


god know where i would be (if you hadn't found me)

by raewastaken (IWriteLove)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arcade's POV, Canon-compliant (mostly), M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24182770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteLove/pseuds/raewastaken
Summary: The Enclave is Arcade’s figurative gold cross necklace at the bottom of the knapsack. JJ won’t ask the questions burning at his tongue, and Arcade won’t willingly give answers. An equal give and take, without the actual giving and taking. And Arcade is comfortable in that, really he is - his jokes and sarcasm and friendship can be easily won things, but his trust is a hard fought battle that not many people outside of the Remnants have ever seen, and it’s always been safer that way. He wishes he could just switch off the paranoia that set in his ribs as a kid, but he knows it’s not as easy as he thinks it will be.Arcade wishes that he could let JJ in.
Relationships: Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	god know where i would be (if you hadn't found me)

JJ keeps a cross at the bottom of his knapsack.

Arcade doesn't want to press - or make it seem like he was going through his things - but JJ  _ had _ asked him to grab something from his bag while he busied himself with trying to pull a lump of congealed broc flowers and sand out of a water pipe, and it's hard not to notice a glimmering, golden cross necklace sitting at the bottom under extra bandages and ammo. He doesn't want to ask, or pry, poke his head into places he doesn't belong, because their traveling arrangements hastily decided only a couple of weeks ago feel precariously balanced as it was already - JJ has no obligation to continue to let him trek along on his little adventure, no loyalty or responsibility. And Arcade was already so  _ terrible _ with people, despite his easy-going charisma, and was an awful aim, and  _ somehow _ even worse in a fight. Of all the companions the fabled, revered,  _ feared _ Courier Six could have chosen, Arcade isn’t sure why it was him. But, JJ still owes him  _ nothing _ , and he’d rather not press the wrong buttons.

But Arcade is curious by nature - he’s a researcher, after all, it's part of the job. The necklace looks neatly polished, in  _ near _ perfect condition, and it almost baffles him, the why of it all. JJ might not be the thrashing, violent storm that the Mojave plays him up to be, but of what little Arcade knows, it doesn’t click.

(And he’ll realize, months down the road, that when it comes to JJ Peterson, many things  _ don’t _ seem to click. But a lot of things will.)

“Arcade!” JJ yells and Arcade whips around, hand tight on the combat knife he had originally been sent for. His face is half pressed into the sand, glasses askew and a furrow in his brow - and his hand is still elbow-deep in the water pipe. Sunny Smiles stands near the water tank, bucket empty, watching the trainwreck before her. “Did you find it?”

Arcade pushes the cross down into a box in his brain, shoves the box back - compartmentalizes alongside everything else in his life - and stands. “Yeah! Sorry, I found it,” he says, heading back over to him and handing it over hilt-first.

JJ takes it, muttering a soft  _ thank you _ and manages to worm his other hand into the pipe, busies himself with muttering and cursing - and then the water starts flowing freely from the spicket attached to the water tank. “Ha!” he yells triumphantly, and pulls out a handful of what  _ would _ have been broc flowers, a few weeks and a lot less water ago. “There we go!”

“Oh thank you!” Sunny cheers, holding her pail under the flow as JJ stands. “Thank you so much! God, I feel like Chet was down here for forever tryin’ to figure out what had happened.”

“It’s no problem,” JJ says, smiling wide and tossing the mush into the desert sand, grabbing his discarded jacket to wipe the grime off his skin. Arcade pointedly doesn’t look at his arms. “Anything for you guys. I’m just glad we were in the area to help out.”

Sunny turns the valve to shut the water off, smiling back at JJ and Arcade. “We’re glad, too. I’ll let Trudy know what you’ve done. She’ll save somethin’ nice for you next time you’re around.”

JJ rolls his sleeves back down, dons his well-worn jacket and gathers his things. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary-”

“JJ, we  _ insist _ .”

Arcade feels like an outsider in this conversation - poking his head in places where he doesn’t belong - and glances down at JJ as he uses the back of his sleeve to wipe away the dirt on his face, readjusting his glasses in the process. “Well- alright,” he finally relents, and smiles. “Just tell her I’ll cash it in later.”

Sunny smiles like she’s won a battle (Arcade suspects that maybe getting JJ to give in to compensation for his good deeds  _ is _ a battle) and heads back toward the town, waving and calling back her goodbyes. JJ waves until she can’t be seen over the dip of hills on the horizon, then turns to Arcade, eyes like molten honey and face set in determination - but his lips are turned up into a smile, the kindest Arcade has ever seen.

“Ready to head out?”

Arcade absently rubs at his wrist through his lab coat’s sleeve.

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Arcade’s eleven when his words appear on his wrist.

It’s wordy, and cramped on his skin, but there’s a distant part of himself that thinks it’s fitting. His mom seems a touch concerned, although he wouldn’t understand exactly  _ why _ for years down the line. He has a feeling - an itch, a  _ hunch _ \- that if his dad were still around, maybe he could explain why, but Dad isn’t, so he’s left in the dark, clueless and with a thrill of excitement under his skin. The words make no sense, and they won’t for  _ years _ , but it gets a gear turning in his head, sets a fire within him so young that it’s a miracle it doesn’t extinguish, and sleeps in comfort for the rest of his childhood that all his choices would lead to his soulmate one day.

_ “Why do you do research instead of providing medical assistance?” _

* * *

Arcade’s not a good liar.

They’re standing in the lobby of the Silver Rush. JJ’s unsurprisingly running errands for someone in Freeside (again) and while Arcade would rather avoid Gloria Van Graff and her batshit insane brother, he understood that work was work - and JJ’s need to be doing  _ something  _ helpful was an all-encompassing, overwhelming call to action for him. It’s only been a few months, but Arcade knew  _ that _ much about JJ, at least. His sense of dedication to the Mojave was a true force to be reckoned with (maybe  _ that's _ why JJ had the reputation he did?)(well, aside from his hellbent revenge on Benny), and it was admirable. He was getting things done, making a real difference. It was way more than Arcade was doing, that’s for sure.

JJ’s staring up at him, eyebrow quirked up in curiosity. “Do… the Followers use a lot of energy weapons?” he asks, a tone of  _ almost _ authority, if Arcade wasn’t so confident in the idea that JJ has never  _ demanded _ anything in his life.

The guard at the door’s head turns toward him, and he feels like he’s been put in the spotlight, immediately. Arcade wants to put his foot in his mouth for his off handed comment about the technology that surrounds them, but it’s too late to take it back - so he tries to cover his ass instead. “No, no, of course not. We, uh, study all sorts of science and technology, y’know?” He dares a glance down at JJ, and is met with an unimpressed face.  _ He’s not buying it _ . “So… We just… kinda get used to them.”

There’s a commotion in the middle of the room, beyond the chain-link security fencing, and a  _ legitimate _ customer mumbles as he tries to worm his way between them to get to the door. Arcade finds an interesting spot of charred wallpaper to look at, but JJ’s eyes don’t leave him. “Hm. If you say so,” he says in a cautious and calculated tone, one that leaves the door open to the conversation, if Arcade would ever cough up the words and say them. He turns away, and Arcade finds it in himself to bring his focus back to him - squared shoulders and chin held up in confidence.  _ Courier Six _ , instead of JJ. “Let’s get this over with, this place makes my skin crawl.”

* * *

The Enclave is Arcade’s figurative gold cross necklace at the bottom of the knapsack. JJ won’t ask the questions burning at his tongue, and Arcade won’t willingly give answers. An equal give and take, without the actual giving and taking. And Arcade is comfortable in that, really he  _ is _ \- his jokes and sarcasm and friendship can be easily won things, but his trust is a hard fought battle that not many people outside of the Remnants have ever seen, and it’s always been safer that way. He wishes he could just switch off the paranoia that set in his ribs as a kid, but he knows it’s not as easy as he thinks it will be.

Arcade wishes that he could let JJ in.

* * *

The Old Mormon Fort is about as busy as it usually is, and Arcade’s so used to it that it’s easy to tune out the chatter and the never-ending coming and going of people. He’s bent over and focused on his research, anyway, books and notes and half crumbled papers scattered over the small table set up in the corner of the tent he calls home, so he feels it's at least a little justified to ignore the world around him. Besides, he was just a researcher - talking with people wasn’t his forte, and he had been more than happy for Julie to shove him into the back corner, out of sight and out of mind.

So he can be forgiven for not noticing the increased chatter outside until there’s a hip at his desk, and he looks up at a friendly (but cocky) smile. The man before him looks  _ young _ , but he has an energy of confidence that doesn’t border into arrogance, like so many other men Arcade’s met. And Arcade might be an absolute idiot with people, but he  _ knows _ who this man is - how could he  _ not  _ know. There’s an awkward beat of silence where neither of them say anything, until Arcade clears his throat. “Uh. Hi. If you’re looking for medical help, try the other doctors,” he says awkwardly. The man’s smile falls a little, but he doesn’t move away, eyes locked onto him. The unbroken, almost intense, attention makes his skin itch. “I’m just a researcher. Not even a particularly good one.”

The man’s eyes finally break from his face, and looks down at his desk, eyes scanning over whatever nonsense Arcade’s been scribbling in the margins of his notes, and hums. “Why do you do research instead of providing medical assistance?” he asks.

It’s an innocent question, but Arcade’s entire world falls apart around him, and his lungs feel like someone’s grabbed them and squeezed out every last bit of air. He struggles for a moment to catch his breath, to press restart on his brain, to find enough words to form a reply, before he just  _ coughs _ and turns his head away, staring down at his papers. He curses his luck - his shitty, shitty fucking  _ luck _ \- and answers him simply. “Not all Followers are people persons.”

“You don’t seem that bad.”

“I’ve spoken a total of thirty words to you. Trust me, I’m boring.”

The man  _ still _ doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against his table, but his eyes are on him again, intense and warm. His arms are no longer crossed over his chest, a hand resting next to Arcade’s scribbles on agave and cazador venom. “Do you have medical knowledge?” he asks, ignoring Arcade’s small bout of self-deprecation. Probably for the better.

Arcade laughs through his nose, like it’s a dumb question, and tries not to roll his eyes (maybe he fails). This entire situation is never how he imagined this going.  _ Nothing _ was ever like he imagined. “That’s pre-requisite number one for being a Follower.”

“Why don’t you come with me, then?”

His head whips up at the question, and he’s met with a warm and kind smile. He feels off balance. This entire situation is  _ ridiculous.  _ “No offense,” he starts off, toning down the bite to his words, trying to hold back the part of him that wants to scream yes until his voice goes raw. “But why should I go  _ anywhere _ with you?” It feels like a defense mechanism. Moreno’s bitter warnings echo faintly in his ears.

The confidence he exudes falls away immediately, and this baby faced  _ mystery _ of a soulmate just  _ stands _ there, looking lost and insecure. But it’s gone as soon as Arcade notices it, and he grins, smug and flirtatious, in its place. “Maybe I need a good looking doctor to help take care of me in the big, bad wasteland.”

If Arcade felt off balance before, it’s like his entire world tilts on an axis and he feels seasick on dry land. His face goes hot at the words, and he has a hard time telling himself that he’s  _ not _ a lovestruck teenager. Words escape him, for a moment, but the man standing before him doesn’t rush him, just stands there with a curl to his lips and his deep honey eyes shining behind his broken glasses. Arcade swallows a lump in his throat. 

“Overt flirtation will get you everywhere, you know?”

* * *

JJ Peterson is his soulmate. And he doesn’t try to lie to himself, to pretend that he didn’t feel the immediate familiarity the moment that question fell from JJ’s lips - because he  _ had _ . He had felt the pull at his core toward him, like him and JJ were two halves of the same soul, and now they could finally complete themselves. He’s always believed in reincarnation - one of the many things he used to cope with his mom’s (and his dad’s) death - so he wonders what iteration of them this is. How many lifetimes have they called each other’s hearts home, finding each other despite the world wedging them apart? He wants to know everything about this man that’s gotten dropped into his life suddenly and unexpectedly, but he feels that creep of uncertainty, the more he procrastinates looking at JJ’s wrist, the more danger JJ puts himself into, the more he takes on his shoulders.

_ Courier Six _ is his soulmate.

Arcade thinks he’s cursed.

* * *

JJ walks out of the Tops Casino, and looks like he’s going to throw up.

Arcade knows about JJ’s ongoing search for Benny. He  _ knows _ the shallow hilltop grave that he had crawled out of in Goodsprings, and the fire inside him that propels him across the Mojave to find the stupid, unlucky man who had tried to put a bullet between his eyes (and unfortunately,  _ tragically _ , missed). He had witnessed just how capable of cold violence he was, when JJ’s fists curled around the stock of his rifle and his eyes had gone  _ scary _ dark while questioning that Khan back in Boulder City, and he can’t help but feel legitimately sorry for what storm is coming Benny’s way as JJ forks over the money for the credit check (enough for  _ both _ of them), and they stroll onto the strip. His shoulders are squared for a fight, jaw set in a hard line, and his eyes are a blaze with determination and revenge - but it’s not  _ warm _ , it’s a bitter winter chill. And it’s when Arcade realizes he can recognize the difference between  _ JJ  _ and  _ Courier Six _ . 

_ JJ _ is warm smiles and kind eyes - he’s the comfort of your favorite blanket, curled in bed, just on the verge of sleep. He’s funny and flirtatious and he laughs easily, mumbles a prayer under his breath before taking a shot, shares half of whatever he eats (even when Arcade doesn’t need it) and keeps a golden cross at the bottom of his courier bag. The world views him as an unstoppable force of destruction and death, but Arcade can see that JJ just  _ cares _ . He cares deeply about everyone and everything he comes into contact with, about the Mojave as a whole, that he won’t let anything stop him from doing what must be done - so much compassion and sympathy, it could tear him up inside if he’s not careful. 

But  _ Courier Six _ is everything they say JJ is - he’s the mindless destruction, the biblical rain of blood, the dust storm on the horizon. He’s cold eyes filled with resentment and anger, clenched fists and the sick churn of unease in the stomach. Courier Six puts walls up that no one can get through, and steels himself before every encounter, always anticipating the worst.  _ He’s _ the one that’s so hellbent on revenge he could tear up the desert between Goodsprings and the Strip’s north gate without a second thought, and Arcade knows he could have done it, too. Courier Six is terror personified and the smell of blood and death, and he’s  _ horrific _ .

_ Courier Six _ walks into the Tops Casino itching for retribution, but it’s  _ JJ Peterson _ that walks out.

Arcade rises from where he had been sitting and waiting patiently with Rex the moment his eyes land on him. JJ grips the handle of the door, and  _ trembles _ , eyes cast down at the ground, and Arcade sees him swallow, hard, his throat bobbing. There’s blood on JJ’s boots. His stomach churns with anxiety. “JJ?” Arcade asks. Rex trots over to him as he lets the door close, sniffing at him and whining quietly when he doesn’t get a reaction. Arcade takes a few steps towards him and JJ lifts his face, looking at him with those wide amber eyes. But they’re dull and  _ scared _ , and Arcade’s so used to seeing them shine in interest and enthusiasm that it feels  _ wrong _ . He swears at this moment that he’d do  _ anything _ to keep that light in JJ’s eyes. “Are you oka-”

“Mr. Peterson?” 

They both look over, and JJ curls his fists at his sides to hide how he shakes, setting his jaw and shoulders again. Every part of Arcade screams  _ no no no.  _ “Yes?”

A man donned in NCR attire approaches, and offers over a folded piece of paper to JJ. JJ takes it, but doesn’t open it. “This is from Ambassador Dennis Crocker, with the NCR Embassy. He wants to formally invite you to come speak to him about the fate of the Mojave,” he says. JJ doesn’t flinch, but that paper is a loaded weapon - he can see the weight on his shoulders. “He’ll see you at your earliest convenience.”

“Thank you,” JJ mutters. The soldier salutes him and walks off without much more fanfare, and JJ stares after him - but it’s not at him, it’s completely past him.

Arcade watches JJ, the way his edges smooth and his guard drops, and concern takes hold of his heart once more. “JJ-”

“I’m going to throw up,” JJ says, and true to his word he turns, emptying his stomach of the Sugar Bombs and the Dandy Boy Apples they had for breakfast into the closest trash can to him. A few people coming out of the Tops stop to watch, and Arcade puts himself between them and JJ. 

(How willing would he be to do this, if his life was on the line?) (So willing, without hesitation, he’d burn himself at the stake to keep JJ safe.)

Arcade rubs his back in slow, steady, (hopefully) comforting circles. “Are you okay?” he asks him again, properly. 

JJ’s chest heaves as he stands back up straight, and Arcade grabs a bottle of water from his bag, handing it to him. He takes a long, uninterrupted drink, eyes a thousand miles away. “Benny ran. Across the Colorado,” he says. Arcade’s blood runs cold, just at the thought. “Legion territory. I have to go after him-”   


“That sounds like a death wish-”

“He’s still got the Chip-”

“JJ, it's  _ not safe _ -”

JJ pulls away from him, and for a brief flash he’s  _ Courier Six _ , but it’s replaced with wide, terrified eyes of molten gold, and his lip quivers slightly. He’s close enough that Arcade can count the freckles brushed across his cheeks, and can see the scar Benny left behind just under the brim of his hat. “I  _ know _ , Arcade,” he says, fire in his voice - but it’s melancholy, and it doesn’t bite. “But I started this, and I chased Benny this far, I can’t just give up now because of what might happen. I  _ need _ to finish this, I  _ need  _ to do what needs to be done.” Arcade doesn’t say anything. JJ’s eyes dart around, never leaving Arcade, and seems to just  _ melt _ under exhaustion and the crash of adrenaline. “ _ Please _ , just let me do this.”

Arcade can’t say no to him - he hasn’t been able to yet, so why start now? 

(Would he  _ ever _ be able to say no to him?) 

“Okay.” JJ softens even more. “Just tell me where you want me.”

* * *

Arcade follows JJ across the Mojave - to Red Rock, to Camp McCarran, to Primm and the 188. They outrun bombs at Nellis, divert power in Helios, chase Rex into the water at Lake Mead. Arcade breaks his walls in Novac, and  _ finally  _ talks - he talks about his dad, without the self-deprecating humor, and about his mom. He talks about the Enclave, about Daisy and Johnson and Henry and Moreno and Kreger. He talks about his sense of responsibility, and loyalty, and legacy, how he can’t be his father, but he wanted to make him proud. JJ’s eyes are steady on him the entire time, but he can’t tell if he can see the longing to find a place in this world for him.

JJ returns the favor in Jacobstown after tracking down Henry, on the balcony, legs dangling off the edge and snow in his hair - he tells him about Utah, painting a beautiful picture of green trees and a quiet peace that settles in your bones like a pleasant chill. He talks about his mom, the rock in his life, and her never ending kindness, about Dallas and their antics of their youth. He tells him about how he left at seventeen to trek the wastelands and deliver packages, to send money back because his mom had been sick. And Arcade can see how homesick he is, in his voice and his eyes, staring out at the evergreens and snow.

He’s been nothing but a fool, since he met JJ. He up-ends a comfortable, semi-plush arrangement with the Followers at the Fort to trek across the Mojave, following a man into the ends of the earth because the words on his wrist match the words on his lips, and goes along with half-baked revenge plots and spur of the moment decisions, and he’s an  _ idiot _ . But he remembers his mom’s wistful, longing stares at the first words his dad had spoken to her all throughout his childhood, recalls when Daisy had told him of the day she met her soulmate, but the woman’s wrist didn’t read her words - and he remembers that he  _ swore _ he wouldn’t let his own slip through the cracks if he could help it. He’d find him, raise hell and pull heaven down just to find him, and then  _ fight _ to keep him (and he wasn’t a fighter, he was  _ terrible _ in a fight, but for JJ he’d do it).

Arcade’s been looking for his place in the world, and he wants his place to be at JJ’s side.

He just hopes JJ’s place is at his.

* * *

“It was my mom’s.”

They’ve been in Zion for a week - JJ and Dallas have been playing strategist in a conflict that isn’t theirs, fueled by a sense of dedication to Joshua and Daniel. A sense of duty. A sense of  _ loyalty _ . New Canaan was gone, destroyed by the Legion and Daniel confirms it, and no one has to say it, but the implication is thick and obvious to him, hanging over JJ’s shoulders like a cloud. JJ’s mom is  _ dead  _ and his home is  _ gone _ . But JJ doesn’t stop, he doesn’t mourn. He pushes through and does whatever needs to be done for the people that are depending on him - his own struggles be  _ damned _ .

( _ So much compassion and sympathy, it could tear him up inside if he’s not careful. _ )

(He can see the cracks in JJ’s seams.)

JJ holds his mug of coffee and stares down at the river of the Narrows below, legs crossed and eyes far away, focusing on something else. Arcade’s at his side, and looks at him as he speaks, surprised to hear his voice. They had been sitting quietly, peacefully, just enjoying the serene night around them, and the coffee Arcade managed to find while scouting with Follows-Chalk. He didn’t expect JJ to say anything - much less about his  _ mom _ . “Huh?” he asks. 

JJ’s shoulders are sunken. He sets his mug down and grabs his bag, digging around for a moment before he pulls out the golden cross that’s been in the back of Arcade’s mind for nearly a year. The moonlight catches it and it almost glows. “This,” he says softly, holding it in his hands like it’s a delicate, fragile thing. “It was my mom’s. My dad had given it to her, after they got married.” His voice trembles, for a moment, but he swallows, inhales deep. “Before I left for the Mojave, she gave it to me, as a reminder of her while I was far from home.”

“Oh,” Arcade says softly, not sure what else to say. “It’s pretty.”

“She took good care of it,” JJ continues, running his thumb over it. “I try to do the same.” They fall into silence.The breeze kicks up and it's cold - it catches the trees and scatters leaves. Arcade covers the top of JJ’s mug before one can fall into his coffee. JJ stares down at the cross in his hands, then looks up, staring off at the cliffs on the horizon. “I hope she’s proud of me,” he says, swallowing again, voice wobbling like he’s on the verge of tears. “Despite everything I’ve done, I hope I’ve made her proud.”

“JJ-”   
  
JJ sniffles and ducks his head. He puts the cross back into his bag and wipes at his face with his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he says, laughing quietly, but it's a sad, broken thing. “I shouldn’t bring the mood down with that.”

Arcade watches him, as the breeze picks up again. JJ shivers, despite his long sleeve button up, and wraps his arms around himself. “It’s okay,” he tells him, and moves to pull his lab coat off without thinking, putting it over JJ’s shoulders. “I’ve told you this before, but you can mourn too, y’know.”

JJ looks up at him at the gesture, mouth open slightly in surprise. “Y-Yeah,” he agrees softly, moving to put his hands through the arms, looking flustered. “Thanks.”   
  
“No problem.”   
  
JJ doesn’t stop looking at him, but he nervously puts a hand over Arcade’s, curling his fingers into his skin. It feels like fireworks, firecrackers, the relief of  _ home.  _ He feels his hand turned, slowly, until his wrist is exposed to the air, and his blood runs cold at the noise that gets stuck in JJ’s throat. He pulls his hand away like he’s been burned, and tears his eyes from him, focusing on the painful  _ thump _ of his heart against his ribs. “Arcade?”

( _ Arcade wishes he could let JJ in. _ ) (He has.)

“Arcade.”

( _ He can’t spend any more time not knowing. _ ) (He’s about to get his answer.)

“ _ Arcade _ .”

( _ Courier Six is his soulmate. _ )

“ _ Arcade look at me.” _

Arcade hazards it, relenting to JJ’s demands (thought he didn’t demand?)(maybe it was just a successful persuasion). JJ looks back at him, and his eyes are fire and the color of leaves in the fall, and he’s framed by moonlight and the stars and the deep black of the night sky, and he’s  _ never _ seen him so determined (or  _ beautiful _ ). He wonders if this is the fire Jessup saw, across a counter with the barrel of a rifle in his face; if it’s what Joshua sees, across a table of maps and bullets; or if it's what Benny had seen, staring down at him in Caesar’s tent, with his fate, his  _ life _ , in his hands, on the other side of a Legion blade. If this is what everyone sees when it’s  _ Courier Six _ staring them down with resolution and confidence, or if this is  _ JJ _ , and this is so uniquely for  _ him _ .

_ (Courier Six - no,  _ JJ _ \- is his soulmate.) _

“Why do you do research instead of providing medical assistance?” he asks, just above a whisper, an echo of words spoken a year ago, a hundred miles ago, an entire lifetime’s worth of emotion ago. ( _ How many lifetimes have they called each other’s hearts home? _ ) There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes, and Arcade hopes for  _ so much _ in this moment. “Because you’re not good with people? Right?”

“I’m not that great with research, either,” Arcade says.

JJ’s lips curl into a smile. “You don’t seem that bad.”

Arcade can’t find air for his lungs - he tries,  _ oh _ he tries. “JJ, where are you going with this?” he asks. 

“I’m your soulmate,” JJ says, simply. Having him admit it puts a stranglehold on his ribs.

“You are, and I’m sorry I never told you, but I didn’t-”

“ _ Arcade _ ,” he says, and it’s exasperated - but tinged with humor. A laugh bubbles up in him at that, and he’s grinning, laughing warm and high and  _ easy _ , because this situation is  _ funny _ apparently. A comedy of errors, more like. “Oh,  _ God _ , Arcade-” Arcade wants to say something, because it feels like his already raw emotions are being taunted, but then -  _ but then _ \- he sees the tears in JJ’s eyes, through his giggles and smiles and  _ joy _ , and  _ nothing _ makes sense to him.

“JJ, what-”

“ _ I’m your soulmate _ ,” he says again, like Arcade didn’t hear him the first time, and then pushes the fabric up on his arm, revealing his wrist, barely containing an emotional sob. 

_ “Hi. If you’re looking for medical help, try the other doctors.” _

_ (Courier Six - JJ - walks into his tent, puts his hands on his research, and up-ends his comfortable life.) _

Arcade’s head spins. He grabs JJ’s arms, rubbing his thumb over the words like they’re  _ a joke _ , and everything  _ clicks _ \- JJ’s smile falling a little when Arcade replies, his eyes staring up at him in the Silver Rush and seeing right through his lies, him wanting him to be okay with his suicide mission across the river. JJ choosing  _ him _ , a nerdy researcher who’s terrible with people, tucked away at the back of the Old Mormon Fort, bent over papers, despite every other person that he could choose.

_ “Oh.” _

“Yeah,” JJ says, sniffling and laughing to himself. “ _ Oh _ .”

Arcade’s waited so long for this moment - he’s waited for an answer for  _ so long _ . He puts his hands on JJ’s cheeks and presses their mouths together in a surge of bravery that would put the entire NCR at Hoover Dam to shame, and everything off in this world slides into place when JJ kisses him back, hands grabbing onto the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. Fireworks, firecrackers, the rush of free falling and the ground eating him whole and if he were to die, right now, in this  _ very  _ moment, he would die happy. Maybe he is dying. Maybe this is heaven.

They pull back from each other, breathless grins and barely-there laughs on their lips, and Arcade runs his thumb over JJ’s cheek, and maps constellations in his freckles. “Well,” he says, drawing the word out. “This is a pleasant turn of events.”   
  
JJ laughs, full and happy, and just kisses him again.

* * *

Arcade finds JJ in one of the back tents, stuffed farthest from the doors to the Old Mormon Fort, bag sitting on the table in the corner, his face down. The back of his mind wiggles with deja vu, and role reversal, but he pushes it away - now is not the time. Dallas sits in the corner opposite to him, and lifts his face when Arcade walks in, grabbing the rifle in his lap before he stands, clapping his hand on Arcade’s shoulder as he leaves them alone.

JJ laces up his boots, pulling them tight, and doesn’t look up. Arcade rests his hip against the table, crossing his arms and watching him - he moves to grab his bag, grab ammo, grab bandages, and puts them away, one by one. His heart aches, and there’s a feeling of dread and unresolved endings and he  _ hates _ it. 

(JJ is his soulmate, and JJ is the savior of the Mojave, and JJ is a martyr and Arcade is  _ cursed, _ he’s so  _ cursed _ .)

“Arcade,” JJ says softly, his hand tight on a roll of bandages. It shakes. He stuffs it away in his bag, then stands, fist clenched, still not looking at him. “No matter what happens, I’m glad to have met you.”

There’s a feeling of finality in his words that makes Arcade feel sick. “JJ-” he starts, then steels himself, standing up straight. “No,  _ Joey _ .” JJ finally looks at him, at that. He sees a thousand life times of them in his eyes, happy and together, safe and sound, and  _ refuses _ to let this be the one where he gets away. “I  _ love _ you,” he says, confident and soft. JJ’s eyes go wide. “I love you, and… and I’ll personally find a way to bring you back from the dead, just to kill you again, if you don’t come back to me safe. So you better.”

JJ just stares at him in shock, before emotion flashes in his face, and he tries not to smile - even if just a little. “Necromancy doesn’t seem like your kinda thing.”

Arcade  _ can’t _ help but to let his lips quirk upwards. “It’s not. Don’t make me go through the trouble. Just promise me you will.”

They stare at each other for a quiet moment. Outside, there’s commotion and movement and the readying for war that’s been two years in the making, and he’s not ready, but JJ can trick them all into believing  _ he _ is. JJ fidgets his fingers for a moment, then steps forward, taking Arcade with his hand and pressing his fist into it. He goes up on his toes, and kisses him, then let's go, steps back from him. Arcade feels something in his palm and he curls his fingers around it. “I promise, Arcade.”

There’s a shout of his name outside, and JJ grabs his bag from the table, and his rifle from the floor, and he’s gone, like the violent wind of a storm, hardened and ready to finish what he’s started. Courier Six walks out of the tent, gets to the grand double gates at the front of the Fort, but it’s JJ who stops, looks back over his shoulder at Arcade, with tears in his eyes.

Arcade opens his hand.

JJ’s mom’s gold cross shimmers up at him.

* * *

The first wave of soldiers from Hoover Dam filter through hours later. Arcade tends to their wounds alongside Julie and Emily and Viol and Angela.

He tries not to think of JJ, the cross hanging from his neck.

* * *

Arcade’s got his sleeves rolled up and blood that isn’t his down the front of his shirt by the time Dallas stumbles in, leaning on Boone for support. It’s nearly midnight, and he can hear crickets around them, over the yells and groans of anguish.

“He was with us,” Dallas tells him as he patches up the bullet wound in his leg. Boone is a silent presence in the corner, arms crossed over his chest. “But he ran off, yelling that he’d be right back. We haven’t seen him since.”

Arcade doesn’t say anything, tightens the bandage on Dallas’s leg, and tells him to rest up.

* * *

The steady stream of people stops after four days.

They say they pushed the Legion back over the Colorado, back into Arizona.

They say Caesar is dead.

They say Legate Lanius is dead.

They say Courier Six is the Hero of the Mojave, the liberator of New Vegas, a martyr. 

JJ isn’t among them.

* * *

Arcade’s barely had to time to sleep, much less pull himself away from his work to  _ think _ , in the week since the battle concluded at the Dam. He’s still in the same button up that he was when JJ left, rolled up sleeves with a smear of blood down the front, but he’s managed to pop three buttons from the top, and his hair is messy and unruly. He’s pretty sure the bridge of his glasses have managed to cut into the skin on his nose. He wants a shower. He  _ needs _ a nap.

Things have calmed down, at least. He can see Angela and Viol sitting by the guard’s station, slumped together and sipping Nuka Cola, and Emily and Julie are counting over inventory, taking stock of what they have left. Dallas and Boone haven’t left, because Dallas refuses to look the truth of the situation in the face about what has probably happened to JJ - but Arcade can’t blame him. He still sits with Beatrix late at night after most everyone else has gone to sleep, quietly sharing her whiskey, watching the gates like they’ll slam open and JJ will be standing there, easy smiles and bright laughter, like nothing happened. He regrets a lot, when he drinks. He regrets ever letting JJ go.

(He regrets taking so long to fess up the truth. He regrets letting him punch his dad. He regrets how their small differences blew up in their faces. He regrets the way they raised their voices at each other. He regrets not holding him more. He regrets not kissing him more. He regrets not having the guts to tell him that he loved him sooner.)

Arcade grabs a box of supplies and goes to cross the courtyard to Julie just as one side of the gates open, a feeble push that gains momentum. All activity seems to stop all at once, like everyone’s holding their breath. Arcade looks over, and sees JJ, delirious and panting and clutching his side and his knuckles go white where he’s holding onto the door and  _ there’s so much blood _ . He sees a confident, self-assured,  _ proud _ smile pass onto JJ’s face, before Arcade’s dropping what he’s holding, surging forward, running like he’s never run before. 

“JJ!” he yells, and manages to get to him just as JJ stumbles and falls forward, dead weight, into his arms. 

* * *

Arcade might be cursed. But JJ is stubborn.

If he didn’t let death take him in Goodsprings, there was no way he would let death take him at the Dam.

* * *

JJ wakes up two weeks later, while Arcade is trying to wash the grime and dirt off his face at the broken faucet behind his tent. Dallas comes to get him, trying not to seem so frantic, sleepless bags deep under his eyes. But Arcade rises at the news without hesitation and runs to JJ’s tent, throwing back the flap at the entrance. JJ looks up at him, eyes as golden and deep as he remembers, wide as they stare at him, mouth open slightly. 

“JJ-” he whispers, relief set deep in his bones. He’s hurt, and covered in bandages, and he’s going to be sore and aching like a  _ bitch _ for the next few weeks, but he’s breathing and  _ alive _ in front of him.

JJ stares for a moment longer, eyes lingering on the cross around Arcade’s neck, then quirks his lips into a teasing smile. “Hope you didn’t learn any Latin incantations for necromancy while I was out. They might be a little useless, now,” he says, but his voice is soft. 

Arcade’s knees could give out at that. He just barks out an exasperated laugh, takes a few steps forward, and carefully pulls JJ into a kiss, smiling wide. “You’re so fucking  _ stupid _ , Joey Peterson-” he mutters against his lips, and earns a laugh from JJ. “Jesus Christ-”

“Wow, I came back on the verge of death and  _ this  _ is how you repay me?”

“Maybe if you didn’t scare the living shit out of me, I’d be nicer.”

JJ’s laughter is tired, but familiar and warm, and he kisses him again, fingers curling into Arcade’s hair. “I’m sorry for scaring the living shit out of you,” he says softly. His hand runs down to the cross around Arcade’s neck, and he smiles. “And thanks for keeping this safe.”

“I didn’t take it off once,” Arcade tells him. “So. Kind of a miracle it didn’t get blood on it, at some point.”

JJ snorts, and he pulls away to lay back against his pillows. Arcade reaches behind his head and unclasps the necklace, handing it back over to JJ. JJ holds in his palm, then closes his fingers around it. “Hey, Arcade,” he says softly.

“Yeah, JJ?”

JJ looks up, and his eyes are molten honey, and the color of leaves in fall, and burnt amber and the feeling of getting lost in a warmth so strong it pulls you back from the brink of disenchantment and losing yourself, and Arcade just wants to drown in it, like he’s not already. He takes a steady breath, and smiles. 

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Arcade’s been looking for his place in the world, and his place ends up being at JJ’s side.

And JJ’s place ends up being at his, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> dallas graham belongs to my [best friend!](https://twitter.com/danasaurusr)  
> [[main twitter](https://twitter.com/milessqueak)] [[fallout twitter](https://twitter.com/c0uriers1x)]


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